


Expendable Comic Relief

by MathClassWarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Assassination Attempt(s), Body Image, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Claustrophobia, Depression, Estrangement, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Ignis Scientia, Panic Attacks, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Ignis's changing perception of Prompto over the years.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 24
Kudos: 103
Collections: 2019 Holiday Exchange





	Expendable Comic Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avianscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/gifts).



As advisor to the future king, Ignis Scientia has a complicated job. He has to keep abreast of current events—attending council meetings, and reading newspapers and reports. He must always be aware of the direction the political winds are blowing, and prepare for any contingency. At the same time, he must keep an eye on the prince—intervening when necessary to prevent any real harm to his person or his future, while remaining careful not to overstep and damage their relationship. It’s a difficult balance to maintain. 

In the years since the Marilith attack, Noctis has been withdrawn, introspective, and often sullen. Recently, King Regis granted his son’s request to move out of the palace and into his own apartment. This has only increased Noctis’s isolation. Ignis makes a point of visiting him whenever there’s time. 

Today, he’s picking Noctis up from school. They’re going together to an event at the Citadel—a special performance of the Crown City Symphony. Ignis has been looking forward to it. The new Altissian conductor has promised to take a bold approach this upcoming season, and tonight is a preview. He’s interested to see what she has in store.

When he pulls up in front of the school, Ignis immediately notices that Noctis isn’t standing alone near the curb, as he usually is. He’s talking to another student—a blond boy wearing his jacket sleeves rolled up, bouncing from foot to foot while he talks. Noctis laughs at something the boy says, then he turns and sees the car. He touches the boy’s shoulder as they say their goodbyes.

“Hey,” Noctis says, throwing his book bag into the back seat of the car.

“Hello, Noct. New friend?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Prompto. He’s cool.” Noctis smiles wide and reclines his seat.

“Did you just meet today?” 

Ignis puts the car in gear and carefully pulls out of the busy drop-off/pick-up area. They wait for a group of girls to cross the street mid-block, and two of them peer through the windshield and wave at Noctis. He looks down at his lap, but gives a small wave in return. Then he says, “I’ve seen him around, we just never really talked before.”

“I see.”

Noctis has never had any friends at school. He’s terribly shy and has endured many years as the center of unwanted attention during school days spent essentially alone—apart from the other students who stared at him and whispered about him. If he’s finally met a classmate with whom he can form a real friendship, it would be a very good thing.

“Are we gonna eat first?” Noctis yawns and quickly shakes his head in a way that brings to mind a shaggy dog flapping its ears.

“We could stop for sushi, if you’d like,” Ignis offers.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

They slowly make their way through rush hour traffic, towards downtown. Ignis turns on the radio—it’s a rebroadcast of the news recap from earlier, so he switches over to the jazz station. They sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the music.

Then Noctis asks, “Do you think my dad’s going to be at the concert?”

Ignis was wondering the same thing himself. King Regis has been occupied with monitoring Imperial troop movements in Lucian territory, and a troubling report just came in from Duscae. As of right now, it’s still classified information, above the prince’s security clearance level.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I know he’d like to go, if he has time.”

“Oh.” Noctis is silent for several minutes, looking out the window. “It’s just—” His voice betrays his frustration. He lets out a breath. “I thought the whole point of having them come to the Citadel is to play for _us_.”

“It is,” Ignis agrees. “I know he wants to be there.”

There isn’t much more Ignis can say on the subject. Regis cares for his son a great deal, but his responsibilities as king must take priority over something like a concert. Noctis surely understands that, but his father’s unavailability is still hard on him. Ignis is sympathetic, but he often finds himself wishing that Noctis would be more appreciative of what he has. Even after all of these years since he lost them, Ignis still misses his own parents acutely. It’s probably because of this loss that he so treasures the time he spends with his uncle; with King Regis, who took him in and gave him a home; and with Noctis, who is much more like a brother to him than a charge.

“Guess we’ll see,” Noctis mutters. “It’ll be cool, either way.”

Ignis hums in agreement.

“Do you know what they’re gonna play? Bach?”

“No. I _do not_ think they’re going to play Bach,” Ignis scoffs. “It will be something we’ve never heard before.”

“No video game music then?”

Ignis laughs. “Gods, I hope not.”

“Hey! Some of it is good!”

“If you say so, Highness.”

_“Pfft.”_ Noctis turns to the window again. Reflected in the glass, Ignis catches a glimpse of a smile.

⁂

The message on the screen says: “TOP SECRET//CG//VRK.” Ignis squints at it in disbelief. He doesn’t recall the last time he encountered anything above his security clearance level when doing background research on a Crown Citizen.

Noctis has been spending a lot of time with his new friend, Prompto Argentum. Now, Ignis is doing his due diligence to confirm that the boy isn’t a threat. What he’s found so far is puzzling, to say the least.

He learned that Prompto is adopted, and that the boy’s parents own a corporate consulting business. Customs records revealed that the Argentums travel regularly, but do not bring their son along on their business trips. Then his investigation started to get interesting. For some reason, Prompto has a lengthy medical file with the state hospital in the Citadel complex, despite the fact that it’s a long distance from his neighborhood. Perhaps his parents thought that their child would receive better care from the facility that treats the royal family. The file consists of test results and readings from annual checkups. What’s interesting is that these checkups were much more thorough and involved a much wider array of tests than is typical.

Then there were multiple reports which came up in Ignis’s search that he’s not able to access. He can see that they were prepared by Crownsguard officers, and normally he would have clearance to see such things. Perhaps it’s a fault in the computer system that is giving him these messages. The reports are nearly 15 years old, dated before Prompto’s adoption. He’ll have to submit a written request, in triplicate, to the records room.

He’s on his way there when he encounters Gladio in the hallway, looking troubled.

“Iggy, I’ve been lookin’ for you.” He speaks quietly and puts a hand on Ignis’s arm.

“What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine now. Can we find somewhere to talk?”

“Of course.”

They find an empty conference room and Gladio closes the door behind them.

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?” Ignis asks.

“I still need to write up my report about it—and before you ask, Noct’s safe at home—but there was a bit of an . . . incident, shopping today.”

Ignis takes in a sharp breath. “Go on, then.”

“Well,” Gladio rubs at the back of his neck. “We were walking down the street, and Noct and his friend were going on and on about some show—I can’t remember which, I never heard of it. _Anyway_ , I was kinda tuning them out, and there was this woman handing out flyers in front of one of the shops—absolutely gorgeous—and she smiled at me from half-way down the block.” He pauses and breathes deep. “So I’m lookin’ at her, when I hear Prompto yell _‘He’s got a knife!’_ and I turn and see a guy coming right towards us—fast! I took him down without much trouble—but he got pretty close.” He winces.

“Where is he now?” Ignis intends to find out who this person works for and if they have any other plans to hurt Noctis.

“Downstairs, in a cell—you have time to question him?”

“I’ll make time.”

Gladio raises his eyebrows.

“Is there anything else?” Ignis asks, growing impatient.

“Yeah, there is.” Gladio runs a hand over his face. “The thing I can’t stop thinking about is—when that kid Prompto flung himself between the attacker and Noct.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Kid was basically doing my job for me. I don’t like that.” Gladio shakes his head.

“Well if you’re too busy flirting—”

“Hey, I looked at her for a second, okay? I would have seen the guy in time.”

“Maybe.” Ignis narrows his eyes.

“ _Definitely._ Anyway, I like the kid, but he’s reckless. He’s got no combat training at all. In a situation like this, he’s a liability.”

Ignis frowns, considering this. “His parents are business owners. They probably have a lawyer.” 

“Can you imagine what a shit show it would be if the kid had gotten stabbed? Fuck, what if he’d gotten himself _killed_?”

“It would be a tragedy, but—” Ignis pauses.

“Better him than Noct, is what you’re gonna say. I know.” Gladio looks at him and Ignis responds with a small nod. That is exactly what he was going to say.

Gladio sighs. “We should thank the kid, probably. And I don’t know what the solution is. He’s not going anywhere. I just worry about next time.”

“We’ll just have to stop the next time, before it happens.” Ignis stands. “Why don’t we go down and have a chat with our guest.” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

They stop at a vending machine to buy a can of Ebony on the way. Ignis gets the feeling that it’s going to be a long night.

* _Almost Five Years Later_ * 

When Ignis arrives at Noctis’s apartment, the first thing he notices is that it’s relatively clean. This is notable because the prince has been having a difficult week. King Regis recently spoke with his son about the terms of the peace treaty with Niflheim, including his engagement to Lady Lunafreya. It comes as no surprise that Noctis didn’t take the news very well. According to the palace staff, there was much stomping and slamming of doors. Ignis likes to think that the conversation would have gone a bit better if _he_ had been there. After hearing all this, he had expected to find Noctis in the midst of a depressive episode, which is usually incompatible with household chores. 

“Noct? Are you home?” he calls out, slipping off his shoes.

Noctis sticks his head out from the doorway to his bedroom. “Hey Ignis.”

Following him into the room, Ignis sees that he’s making an attempt at folding laundry. 

“How are you doing, Noct?” he asks, carefully.

Noctis tosses a ball of socks onto the bed and turns to look at Ignis. He takes a deep breath and says, “Prompto wants to join the Crownsguard.”

“Is that so?” Ignis watches Noctis ball another pair of socks. He likes Prompto well enough, but doesn’t think he’s particularly well-suited for the job. It requires rigorous combat training in a wide variety of weapons, and involves memorizing dozens of complex protocols, which often include code phrases and tricky evasive maneuvers. Ignis understands that the boy does very well in track and field, but that’s not nearly enough. Then there’s the matter of his origins, which could complicate things whenever they’re abroad. “And what did you tell him?” 

“Oh,” Noctis says, picking up all the socks and carrying them to his drawer. “I kinda . . . asked him to.”

The cleaning suddenly makes sense. He’s trying to get into Ignis’s good graces before making this outlandish and dangerous request. 

“So this was _your_ idea?” Ignis asks.

“Yeah,” Noctis sighs. 

Ignis helps him finish clearing off the bed, so they can sit down. Then he says, “Surely you aren’t thinking he can join in time to come with us to Altissia.”

Noctis’s eyes flash, like a warning sign. “I need him there—he’s my _best friend_.”

“Oh, Noct.” Ignis shakes his head slowly. “I know you want him to be there with you at the wedding—and so do I—but it’s dangerous.”

“He’ll be fine! He’s in really good shape—he runs all the time—and it’s not too late to give him _some_ training, even if it’s not the full deal.”

“Hardly enough time to learn to swing a sword, let alone the rest of it!” Ignis begins to raise his voice, against his better judgment.

“So he won’t have a sword! So what? He’s a good shot!” Noctis shouts back.

“At the _arcade_ ,” Ignis says, much more gently.

“Yeah, I know,” Noctis deflates. “But it gives him a head start, at least. And he’s a fast learner. The stuff he can figure out—you’d be surprised. He could help a lot.” He looks pleadingly at Ignis, waiting for his agreement, even though, technically, Noctis can do whatever he wants.

It’s becoming clear that he has his heart set on this terrible idea, and Ignis reasons that nothing good can come from opposing him on this. Instead, he should focus on minimizing the fallout.

“I hope that you’ve given some thought to the risk that you’re putting Prompto in. We don’t know what we’re going to encounter out there.”

“I—” Noctis swipes at his eyes. “Yeah. But I’m fucking selfish, and he wants to come along, so . . .”

“Alright, then.” Ignis stands to leave and rests a hand on Noctis’s shoulder. “I’ll call the marshal. I’m sure we can arrange some kind of basic self-defense training for him, at least.”

“Thanks,” Noctis chokes, looking at the floor.

With a quick squeeze of his shoulder, Ignis goes out to the living room to give Noctis some privacy.

  
* _After the Fall_ * 

When they return to the Prairie Outpost, they’re too exhausted to set up camp. Their entire world has turned upside-down in a single day. The Niflheim Empire invaded Insomnia. King Regis is dead. Clarus Amicitia is dead. Ignis’s uncle is almost certainly dead. Lady Lunafreya is missing. Noctis has begun collecting the spectral arms of his ancestors, and they need to formulate a plan to take back their home. 

When they unlock the caravan, Noctis heads directly to bed and curls up against the wall. Ignis prepares sandwiches in the tiny kitchen, though he’s not sure if anyone has an appetite. Prompto and Gladio are on the couch, each of them quietly stewing in his own grief. Gladio clenches and unclenches his fist and doesn’t shed a tear. Prompto has his knees pulled up to his chest, staring intently at the stained and threadbare carpet. 

There’s a nagging thought that continues to drift to the front of Ignis’s mind—a minor incident from the day before. During the drive to Galdin Quay, Prompto kept leaning over the center console and into his space—adjusting his hair, or tuning the radio, or trying to look at whatever landscape they were passing on the left. It was more than a little obnoxious. When he’d done this one too many times, Ignis shoved him away, back into his own seat. Prompto took it in good humor, of course, but Ignis still feels guilty about it. There’s no point in apologizing, though. It seems so trivial now.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t really know anything about Prompto. He’s investigated the boy’s background, of course—and found some things that Prompto himself may not even know—but it’s all superficial. It doesn’t tell Ignis who he really _is_. He doesn’t know whether Prompto had declared a major yet at the university, what he’d hoped to do in the future, what kind of music he likes best, or how he feels about his parents. And of course, Prompto knows nothing at all about Ignis. He supposes that they’ll come to know each other a little, in time.

Arranging the plates of sandwiches on the counter, Ignis says, “Here you are, if you think you can eat.”

Gladio looks up with momentary confusion, then nods and says, “Yeah. Thanks, Iggy.” He accepts a plate. 

Prompto stands and mutters, “I’ll see if Noct’s hungry.” He shuffles over to the bed and doesn’t come back.

Ignis takes a plate and sits down next to Gladio. They chew and swallow. They don’t talk. They gaze, unfocused, at the wall. They muster up the will to go on.

⁂

Noctis, Gladio, Prompto and Ignis slowly make their way along a narrow ledge, under a rocky overhang so low they have to hunch. A cool dampness permeates the air, but thankfully, the rock underfoot isn’t very slippery and Crowsguard-issue footwear has excellent traction.

“Fear of heights AND claustrophobia?!” Prompto exclaims through manic laughter. “Two great tastes that taste great together!” 

“Don’t look down!” Noctis shouts from the front of the line.

“You got it,” Prompto replies. “I’ll just keep my eyes on Gladio’s ass.” 

Ignis doesn’t laugh, which he knows is a bit unkind, given his friend’s intense need for validation.

Since they’ve been in this cavern, Prompto has been providing nonstop commentary. While Ignis is sympathetic to his phobias, it’s beginning to grate on his nerves. None of them are comfortable down here, and he would prefer that they focus on finding what they’re looking for, so they can leave.

There’s a sound of falling rock up ahead, followed by the crackling woosh of Noctis warping. Prompto yelps and clings to the wall of rock. Gladio yells, _“Fuck!”_ as he falls.

“Noct! Gladio!” Ignis calls down into the darkness below and catches a whiff of something foul. He hears Gladio coughing and fishes out a handkerchief to cover his nose.

Gladio’s flashlight appears once again, shining straight upwards. Then Noctis walks into view, contributing his own light, and shouts, “We’re okay!”

Ignis can see that Gladio is lying in an enormous pile of mushrooms. Noctis gives him a hand up, covering his face with the other. 

Gladio takes a couple of tentative steps, favoring his left foot. “Think it’s sprained,” he grumbles, lifting his right foot in the air and attempting to rotate his ankle. “ _Damn_ , it stinks down here.” 

“You two press on,” Ignis says. “We’ll try to find another way.”

“Okay,” Noctis replies, handing a potion to Gladio. Then he looks up at them. “Hey, Prompto—you all right?”

Prompto starts to turn his head to look down at Noctis, then quickly reverses course, back to the rock he’s clinging to. “I’m _great_! Talk about lucky,” he laughs, leaning his forehead against the wall.

“Okay, be careful,” Noctis calls, before he and Gladio walk out of view. 

Now Ignis has to get himself and a frightened Prompto safely off this crumbling ledge. As gently as he can, he says, “We’ll need to go back the way we came. Can you do that?”

_“Mmhmm.”_

“We’ll move slowly and carefully, and soon there will be plenty of ground to stand on.”

There isn’t enough room to turn around, so Ignis moves his light and looks over his shoulder as he shuffles backwards. 

“All right, come on,” he coaxes, “and please don’t forget to breathe.”

Prompto exhales and slides one foot back, then the other, while moving his hands from one solid grip to the next—never entirely letting go of the wall. Ignis is somewhat impressed with his form, though he doubts that the boy has ever done any rock climbing. 

“ _Man_ , one more step and I would’ve fallen down there, too,” Prompto says. “Except I wouldn’t have walked away with just a sprained ankle. Gladio’s unstoppable!”

“I imagine he has those mushrooms to thank, for cushioning his fall. We were too far away for me to tell what kind they were—hopefully the spores aren’t harmful.”

“ _Oh shit_ , good point.” After a beat, Prompto adds, “Hey, you ever heard of sex pollen?”

And with that, Ignis’s annoyance spikes again. “Please,” he sighs, “let’s focus on getting off of this accursed ledge.” 

Prompto remains blessedly quiet the rest of the way back. When they reach the last chamber, he sprawls himself out on the ground. Ignis lets him lie there and collect himself for a moment, and ponders their next move. 

There’s a narrow tunnel sloping deeper into the cave that looks just big enough to crawl through. Someone must have used it as a passageway, because there’s a chain running through it, affixed to the wall. Ignis gives the chain a tug and it feels secure.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Prompto mutters as he peers around Ignis, into the tunnel. “Okay, okay. I’m gonna need a minute, though.”

He puts his back against the wall, then slides to the ground. His breathing is shallow and too fast. Ignis reaches a tentative hand towards his shoulder, but Prompto leans away from his touch.

“I—I’m okay, just need some space,” Prompto explains, then takes a gasping breath. “I think I inhaled in some of those spores. _Fuck_.”

“Are you having a panic attack?” Ignis asks softly, taking a step back and sitting carefully, to avoid any puddles.

Prompto nods and exhales slowly. 

“Deep breaths,” Ignis advises.

Prompto laughs, “Yeah! I’m trying!” He closes his eyes and takes in a long breath through his nose. After a few more slow breaths he says, “Sorry, I’m such a mess.”

“Please, don’t apologize. You’re doing very well, under the circumstances.”

Prompto opens his eyes and gives Ignis a shaky smile. He looks like he’s about to make another self-deprecating remark, but something passes across his face and he hesitates. He lets out another breath, scrunches up his nose, and says, “Thanks, Iggy.”

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but do you— _did you_ —see a therapist?” Ignis asks. “Before?”

Prompto shakes his head. “ _Nah_ —probably should, huh? I talked to the counselor one time, in middle school, but . . .”

“Not helpful?” Ignis vaguely recalls the woman. She was young and overly cheerful. Noctis wasn’t particularly fond of her.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s just—” Prompto looks down, rubbing his bare arms. He’s probably freezing in here. Then he turns to look at Ignis again and says, “My folks weren’t super into it—me talking to strangers about my problems.” 

Ignis nods and hums in understanding. This does not surprise him at all.

“Anyway—I know a breathing exercise. It works . . . sometimes.”

“Is it working now?”

Prompto nods. “Yeah, actually. It is.” He stands and brushes off his pants, then helps Ignis to his feet.

Just then, they hear voices coming up through the tunnel. Ignis sticks his head in. “Noct, is that you?”

“Hey!” Noctis responds, his voice reverberating eerily. “Stay there! We’ll be right up.”

Ignis holds the end of the chain to make doubly-sure that it’s secure, and it’s not long before Noctis and then Gladio pull themselves, huffing and puffing, out from the end of the tunnel. 

“Hi.” Noctis smiles at Ignis and Prompto, catching his breath. “We got the thing.” He reaches an arm out to Prompto. 

“Oh, thank gods,” Prompto exclaims, falling into the hug. “Gross. You stink, dude,” he says, and Noctis shoves him away.

“How’s your ankle?” Ignis asks Gladio, patting him on the back, while covering his nose.

“Just fine. Let’s get out of here, huh? Maybe spring for a hotel tonight?”

“Good idea,” Ignis replies. “Perhaps a second room for you, lest you keep the rest of us up with your sporing.”

Prompto is the only one who laughs—bless him.

⁂

It’s a beautiful Duscae evening when they pull in to the Coernix station. As usual, Noctis acts very put-upon about having to fill up the tank, but Ignis is unmoved. The Regalia is still his, even if he hardly ever drives her. Besides, someone needs to go in and restock their supplies.

“Wanna hit up the Crow’s Nest?” Prompto asks, hopping out of the car.

The prospect of a heavy, greasy meal is not at all appealing to Ignis. They’ve been eating a lot of diner food lately, and he was actually looking forward to trying a new recipe at camp. “If you wish to put on weight, certainly,” he answers.

“Yeah,” Prompto sighs, “I know.” He pulls out his phone and walks off, towards the shop. 

Noctis frowns as he watches Prompto go, then he looks at Ignis and beckons him over with a tilt of the head. 

Walking around the car, Ignis asks, “What is it?”

Noctis leans against the Regalia, facing away from the station, and whispers, “So, I know you didn’t mean anything by it—what you just said—but, Prompto’s not so good with weight stuff. Like . . . I worry about him, with that stuff.”

_“Oh,”_ Ignis whispers back, feeling terrible. “If I had known it was a sensitive subject, I certainly wouldn’t have said that.” 

He really had no idea that Prompto might have disordered eating habits, though in retrospect, there were signs. He’s the only other member of their little party who reads nutritional labels, and he makes comments about things he shouldn’t eat.

“Yeah. So—don’t apologize or anything,” Noctis continues. “If he finds out I talked to you, he’ll just get more stressed, but . . .”

“It won’t happen again, of course.”

Noctis leans into him, bumping shoulders. “Thanks, Specs.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not sensitive about my glasses,” Ignis jokes.

“You love your glasses.”

“I do.”

Prompto is looking cheerful again when he and Gladio return to the car. He hands Noctis a bag full of energy drinks and says, “I want your strongest potions.”

“My potions are too strong for you, traveler,” Noctis memes back at him. Ignis resists the impulse to roll his eyes.

They drive to a haven to set up camp for the night. 

Dinner is peppery daggerquill rice—a recipe Ignis recently picked up from a restaurant in Lestallum. He may have made the dish a bit too spicy. Noctis and Gladio are both suffering, but they have plenty of cold beer to wash it down. Prompto, at least, seems to be enjoying the meal.

_“Mmmm.”_ He closes his eyes and throws his head back. “This is _so_ good, Iggy. This is like, one of my all-time favorite things, but yours is the best I’ve had—ever!” 

Prompto eats quickly, and doesn’t leave even a drop of sauce behind. A clean plate really is the greatest compliment a chef can receive. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” Noctis takes a swig of beer, eyeing his meal warily. Then he asks, “Do we have any more plain rice I can mix in here?”

“Yes, there’s still some on the stove.” Ignis stands to retrieve the serving dish from the cooking station. He gives himself a second helping, then tries to pass it to Prompto.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” he says, waving his hand.

“You don’t want any more?” Ignis offers again.

“I mean—yes! But, I shouldn’t.”

“Nonsense! You should have all that you like.”

“Well . . . okay.” Prompto grins and serves himself another spoonful. 

“That’s the spirit!” Gladio cheers and takes the dish from him. “Hey Iggy—bet it’s nice to have somebody else around who appreciates your cooking.”

“Yes, it is.” Ignis narrows his eyes at Noctis, who’s just returning to his seat after smothering the offending sauce with extra rice.

“Hey! It’s not my fault I don’t have taste buds made of steel.”

“Oh is _that_ the problem?” Ignis teases.

Noctis shoots back a sour look, but it quickly gives way to just the hint of a smile before he shovels rice into his mouth. He glances at Prompto, then back to Ignis, and raises his bottle.

With a small nod, Ignis does the same. Then he leans back in his chair and looks up at the stars. On a clear and perfect night like this, it feels like they’ve got all the time in the world.

  
* _After the Covenant_ * 

It’s morning, probably after 9 o’clock, based on the number of times Ignis has silenced the alarm on his phone. No, not him—Prompto, who's been flitting in and out like a very anxious and helpful bird. Ignis left it on the other side of the room, reasoning that it would force him to get out of bed. That hasn’t happened yet. He probably _could_ use the extra rest, but instead he’s just lying there, awake. He can hardly bear to face another day. He must, though. Perhaps today will be the day that Noctis finally wakes. 

A fresh swell of grief rises up in his chest as he recalls what he saw at the Altar of the Tidemother. Lady Lunafreya, lying in a pool of her own blood. Noctis, unconscious at her side and fated to join her in death far too soon. The Kings of Lucis—towering, judgmental archetypes, discussing what they would take from Ignis, as payment for borrowing their power. It was a power he didn’t want and didn’t think he deserved. Contrary to certain persistent rumors, Ignis knows that he’s not of royal blood, yet he dared to wield the ring. He did this knowing what had happened to others who tried the same. He had no other choice. Ardyn Izunia was going to kill Noctis, and it was up to Ignis to stop him. So that’s what he did.

Ignis stands before his alarm sounds again and uses a voice command to turn it off. He’s searching through a pile of clothes when there’s a hesitant knock at the door frame.

“Come in, Prompto,” he says.

“Morning, Iggy,” Prompto says, lingering in the doorway. “Need anything?”

“No, thank you. I think I can manage getting myself clean and dressed.” 

“Okay, just—oh your handkerchief’s on the floor. Let me grab it.” Prompto bounds into the room and scoops up the cloth from where it must have fallen the night before, when Ignis tried to leave it on top of the dresser. He’s still getting familiar with the layout of this room.

“There, I put it by your wallet,” Prompto says on an exhale.

“Thank you.”

“No prob.” 

There’s a scratchy, shuffling sound—the soles of Prompto’s boots rubbing against the carpet, not leaving. Since the covenant, he’s been relying more on Ignis and Gladio for social interaction. Though Ignis has also overheard him talking to Noctis, who still lies unresponsive in the next room. 

If he was feeling more like himself, Ignis would probably say something about how well Prompto did—keeping his cool under chaotic and terrifying conditions, leading civilians to emergency shelters, figuring out how to operate Imperial magitecknolgy, and using it to help Noctis with his divine trial. But he doesn’t have the capacity to say any of that at the moment—not when his own emotional tapestry is unraveling. Instead, he says, “I’m going to take a shower now.”

“Yeah—sorry,” Prompto says with a half-hearted laugh. “Catch you later.” 

Ignis listens as his friend’s footsteps fade, and the door to Noctis’s room opens and closes again. Then he sits, slumping forward—already exhausted. Maybe he should just go back to bed. He presses his hands to his face and pulls them away wet. He finds his handkerchief exactly where Prompto said he’d left it and dabs away the tears.

Breathing deep, straightening his shoulders, and exhaling again, he decides that he may as well begin this wretched day. He heads to the bathroom.

⁂

It’s as easy and as challenging as one foot in front of the other, probing the path ahead with his cane. The hike down to the mine is the furthest that Ignis has walked since he began moving through the world in this new way, and on top of that, it’s slippery, uneven terrain. He’s grateful for Prompto at his side, alerting him to jutting roots and unexpected drops, and helping to steady him when he inevitably stumbles. 

Despite all of the hazards, this trek is far less frustrating than his early forays into the streets of Altissia after he lost his sight—he was still figuring out how to utilize the cane and could hardly get Prompto to let go of his arm. After many trips to meet with Camelia Claustra, dine with Weskham, or simply escape the oppressive misery of their rooms at the Leville, Ignis has gotten the hang of walking again, and Prompto is much better at helping him in a way that’s actually helpful. 

Up ahead, there’s a splash of boots in puddles, the squelch of mud, and Gladio shouts, “Hey! Stop running ahead!” at Noctis, before running ahead himself.

Ignis thinks he can actually feel the stress radiating off of Prompto, and it’s growing by the minute. From the sound of it, he was caught in the cross-fire during Noctis and Gladio’s scuffle on the train, and every hostile remark that the two of them lob at one another is clearly sending a fresh bolt of anxiety in his direction. This isn’t any fun for Ignis either—in particular, he wasn’t fond of Gladio’s suggestion that he stay behind at the station.

“Are you all right?” Ignis asks—not for the first time.

Prompto sniffs. “Yeah, I’m okay, I guess.” 

“Very convincing.” 

“Ha,” Prompto says, not actually laughing.

Ignis tries prodding a bit further. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Oh! Oh, no! Just my feelings, I guess. No biggie,” he replies. Ignis imagines him chewing on his lip, like he does when he’s hesitant to say something. Then Prompto sighs and says, “I just wish they’d . . . just . . .”

“Stop this pointless and counterproductive fight?” 

“Yeah,” Prompto breathes, then lightly touches Ignis’s elbow. “Hey, there’s a rock—step a little to the left. Yeah, okay, okay, you’re cool.” Then he backs away again, giving Ignis some space.

Ignis continues, “We’re all hurting, but neither of them can see past his own pain to understand the other’s perspective, let alone notice how it’s affecting the two of us.”

Prompto hums thoughtfully. 

“Oh look! _Fuck_ —sorry Iggy. I mean, there’s a campsite here. It’s not too far.”

“That’s good. At this rate, we’ll be down here for days before we find that tomb.” Ignis wonders bitterly how much longer it’s going to take, now that Noctis has agreed to take photographs for some man at the train platform with a paper-thin story. He didn’t strike Ignis as anyone who might pose a threat, just an annoyance—another distraction from their goal.

“I can’t remember if we’ve got any noodles left,” Prompto says.

Ignis frowns. “Unless Gladio is carrying some, I think not. We’re probably going to have to make do with beans.”

_“Nooo,”_ Prompto’s voice is muffled—he’s groaning through his fingers. “Noct’s gonna be even more pissed.”

“Well, if he wants to eat, that’s what we have.” Ignis has zero patience for pickiness right now.

“Right.”

They walk in silence for several minutes before Ignis says, “Tonight may not be the right time, but I _will_ say something to them.” Then he stops, finding Prompto’s shoulder, and adds, “Until then, I hope you can try not to take it personally. This is just the newest iteration of a very old argument.”

Prompto is quiet for a moment, then he laughs. “I was nodding, and then I remembered you can’t— _sorry_ , that’s not funny.” Speaking through his hands again, he repeats, “Sorry.” 

“It’s all right,” Ignis sighs. “We’re all adjusting.” 

He touches Prompto’s arm and can feel him shivering. It’s no surprise. Surrounded by damp earth and plants on all sides, the chill cuts through all of Ignis’s layers. He’s come to a place of resigned acceptance of his friend’s aversion to sleeves, though, so he doesn’t comment that they all should have brought warmer jackets. With a pat, he says, “Come, let’s try to catch up.”

“You got it.” Prompto takes a couple of steps, crunching wet gravel, and says, “The path is curving a little—this way.”

Smiling softly, Ignis follows.  


* _Leaving Zegnautus Keep_ * 

It’s exceptionally loud in the airship, despite everyone’s best efforts to speak in low voices. Between the humming of machinery, the crying of children, and the several conversations taking place throughout this spartan craft, it’s unavoidable. 

It’s also crowded. Commodore Aranea Highwind brought on as many people as she could safely carry out of Gralea, and she ordered her team to transport just as many refugees in the other airships in this little fleet. At first, it didn’t seem like nearly enough survivors for such a large city, but reflecting on it now, after what they’ve seen, and what they’ve heard from Aranea’s people and the refugees, Ignis wonders if these really were the only humans left in the city. It’s a cruel bit of irony that the Empire has fallen and Lucis can’t even take credit for it. Niflheim destroyed itself from within—its fate sealed as soon as Emperor Aldercapt brought Ardyn “Izunia” into his orbit. 

The days are growing shorter, increasing peoples’ exposure to daemon attacks. The crystal didn’t provide the solution that they had hoped, and they had no choice but to leave it behind in the keep, because Noctis is gone. 

Noctis is gone, and the three of them have no idea what to do next.

Ignis rubs at his temples, trying to release some tension. He has to think. His friends are counting on him to give them a plan. It’s what he’s good at, but at the moment he’s coming up short. It’s so stuffy in the airship. It’s difficult to breathe, let alone think. 

He hears the crystalline tinkle of borrowed magic from nearby, so he follows it to a corner.

“Oh. Hey Iggy,” Prompto says, through the sound of his disintegrating weapons. Ignis sits down beside him on the floor. 

Ignis is very worried about his friend—he’s been worrying ever since Prompto fell from that train. Ardyn arranged such a perfectly devastating betrayal, so well-tailored to Prompto’s insecurities. Then he used Prompto as bait, to taunt and rile Noctis, to manipulate him. Before this, Ignis failed to realize just how much the Imperial chancellor knew about them. He has always prided himself on his thoroughness, but in this case, he was incautious and allowed himself and his friends to be played right into their enemy’s hand. He won’t make that mistake again.

Prompto lets out a long, shaky exhale. He’s drumming his fingers on his knees. “Last time I was in one’a these, it was full of MTs,” he says. “Now . . . it’s just me.”

Ignis puts a hand on Prompto’s shoulder, and he stops drumming. “We’ve talked about this. You’re _not_ one of them,” he soothes.

Prompto slumps towards him, and Ignis pulls him into a hug. His friend has tried his best to process all of the new information about his origins but still fundamentally misunderstands what it is that makes a Magitek Unit. Yes, he was one of Verstael Besithia’s innumerable clones, but he apparently wasn’t injected with plasmodic miasma, and clearly never went through the process that transformed those clones into mindless Imperial soldiers.

“Just because you were intended, long ago, for some other fate, that doesn’t define who you are,” Ignis says. “Please try to remember that.”

Prompto’s chin moves against Ignis’s shoulder as he nods. His breath hitches as he whispers, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“We’ll go back to Caem. We’ll regroup—come up with a plan. I think it would be best to go to Lestallum, to be close to the power plant.”

Prompto shifts away, curling in on himself, and Ignis lets him go. He hears Prompto summon his weapons again and say, “I’ll stay in Caem—he might go back there first."

“No,” Ignis says, with a bit more force than he intended. “You’re coming with us.” 

Magic-charged air disturbs the hairs on Ignis’s arm when Prompto dismisses his revolvers again. Then Gladio’s heavy footfalls approach through the din, stopping in front of the two of them. He grunts softly as he crouches down and asks, “What’s up?”

“We’re just discussing our next move, after we meet up with the others,” Ignis replies.

“Right. I finally got through to Iris—let her know we’re on our way.”

“Good.”

“Did you tell her?” asks Prompto.

There’s a beat of silence before Gladio exhales. “No. Not yet.”

“He’s still alive. I _fucking know it_ ,” Prompto croaks, materializing his weapons once more. “‘Cause I can still do _this_.”

The Armiger: the spaceless space in which they store their weapons; the unique gift of House Caelum; their only connection to Noctis at the moment, however ephemeral. It makes perfect sense for Prompto to be compulsively reaching into it right now. Ignis doesn’t mention the reports he read regarding the Kingsglaive’s lingering powers _after_ Regis fell. He’s also trying to hold out hope that Noctis is alive, and that they will be reunited soon.

There’s another crackle as Prompto sends the weapons away again and concludes, “I’m gonna keep looking for him. You have Iris, Cor—plenty of people to take to Lestallum and figure shit out. You don’t need me.”

“Sorry,” Gladio says, sitting down hard on the floor, “but that is some bullshit.”

“We most certainly do need you, Prompto,” Ignis agrees, returning a hand to his shoulder. “Not only because of your skill, but because you’re our friend. You’re an indispensable part of this group.”

“Face it, Blondie. You’re stuck with us.” There’s a soft thud as Gladio pats him on the other shoulder, then a ghost of a laugh from Prompto.

“And believe me, we aren’t going to stop looking for Noct. We just need to be strategic about it,” Ignis adds.

“Okay.”

“Good.” Ignis gives Prompto a gentle squeeze. “You had us worried.” Then he stands and brushes off his pants—why he bothers, he doesn’t know. All of their clothes are as filthy as the floor. With bittersweet fondness, he can recall times when they were in an even worse state—specifically Noctis and Prompto, completely caked in mud after an afternoon of frog hunting.

That gives him an idea—the beginnings of a plan. “Gladio,” he asks, “could you see if you can reach Sania Yeagre?”

* _Six Years Later_ * 

The wooden chair creaks as Talcott stands to leave Ignis’s office. “I’ll get these typed up right away,” he says, shuffling papers. 

“I appreciate it. I’d like to have another go-through after I review our notes from the tomb last month. I think there’s something there, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I think so too.”

Ignis walks around the desk and pats Talcott’s arm. “Take care,” he says. He can’t believe how tall the boy has grown.

“Will you be coming for dinner? Monica’s cooking.” 

Before Ignis finishes thinking through his afternoon schedule, Talcott adds, “Don’t worry, she promised not to make that malboro soup for us again.”

“Come now, it’s not so bad.” Ignis smiles. “I’ll try to stop by if my meeting with Libertus doesn’t go too late.”

“Okay!” Talcott opens the door, and they can hear Prompto greeting people as he makes his way down the hall towards Ignis’s office. He must have just gotten back that morning. Last Ignis heard, he was still in Hammerhead, helping Cindy clear through a backlog of repairs. They depend on reliable transportation now, more than ever.

“Hey T-cott!” Prompto says, followed by the smack of a high-five.

“Hi!” 

“Hey Iggy—you busy?” 

“Not too busy to talk to you.” Ignis holds out his arms to embrace his friend, and Prompto squeezes him back. He smells like motor oil and greasy hair and it’s very nice to be around him again. “It’s been too long,” Ignis says as they part. “I’ve missed you.”

“ _Aww_ , I missed you too, man.” There’s a thud as Prompto drops his bag onto the chair. “Talcott! I have something for you.”

“Yeah?”

Ignis hums. “Do I dare ask what it is?” 

“Oh . . . maybe I should have you meet me in the back alley, little dude,” Prompto jokes.

Talcott laughs, genuine and loud, and it’s a nice thing to hear.

“JK,” Prompto says. “Here you go—it’s a head-lamp.”

“Cool!”

“For your tomb-raiding, so you can free up a hand for writing or whatever.”

“Thanks, Prompto!”

“Of course! As soon as I saw it, I thought of you guys.”

Talcott heads out, closing the door behind him, and Prompto takes a seat. He scoots his chair closer to the desk and lets out a long exhale.

“Did you have any trouble getting in?” Ignis asks.

“Nah—” Prompto’s voice is muffled by his arms. He lifts his head and says more clearly, “Just the usual. I hitched a ride in with some Glaives. Nelly and her girl. And Gutsco.”

Ignis stops himself from making an uncharitable comment about the mage. Gutsco does try very hard, and they need all the help they can get, but he can be awfully dense. Instead, Ignis says, “I see you liberated the contents of a Coernix on the way.” 

Prompto snorts. “Yeah, well—there were some survivors in this one, so we picked them up and grabbed whatever we could. Oh! Almost forgot.” There’s a rustle as he digs something out of his bag, and then a metallic clunk as he sets a can on the desk. “Not Ebony, sorry. It’s some off-brand—Café Jefe? It’s black, though.”

Coffee is a rare luxury these days. While there are far more important things that Prompto could be gathering when he ventures out beyond Lestallum’s walls to loot abandoned gas stations and superstores, Ignis is grateful that his friend thinks of him. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll save it for a special occasion.”

Prompto taps a pencil on the top of the desk and asks, “How are things?”

Ignis thinks for a moment. Just last week, Sania confided in him that she had hit another dead end in her research and felt like she wasn’t any closer to pinpointing the cause of the scourge than she was at the beginning. Yesterday, Holly told him that she was so short-staffed at the power plant that none of them had gotten a day off in months. Just this morning, he had a four-hour council meeting in which he listened patiently to the complaints of one constituency after another. All he could offer them in return was his assurance that he took their concerns seriously and would do his utmost to address them. In other words, nothing. He’s not about to burden Prompto with any of that, though. He simply says, “Well. I’m still here.”

Prompto reaches out and squeezes his hand. “And we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“That’s not a popular sentiment right now,” Ignis responds with a bitter laugh.

“What?! No way! The people love you.”

“Prompto, I know what people are saying. It’s necessary to do my job, and I’m good at it. Don’t worry—I don’t take it personally.” He tries to reassure his friend with a smile.

“ _We_ all love you, anyway. I hope you know that, at least.” 

Ignis dips his chin and purses his lips, unsure of how to respond. He does know, but it’s good to hear anyway.

“And I swear to you, I’ll punch any motherfucker in the face who tries to badmouth you around me!” Prompto adds.

“Is that so?” Ignis leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Do you think that would help our reputation, and by extension, Noct’s, if the representatives of the Crown went around beating up dissenters?” 

“Okay, okay. I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Please do.” Ignis half-smiles. “I don’t think this is the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“No, no, last time it was Gladio, remember? He wanted to punch that one fedora dude—that guy who always used to talk smack about us? Real nice guy.” Prompto laughs.

Ignis knows the man. He’s felt unsettled whenever their paths cross, even before anyone mentioned his choice of headwear. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this person is really Ardyn in disguise, toying with them. He keeps this observation to himself, though.

Ignis leans forward again and pats Prompto’s hand. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve got to run to a meeting, but where are you staying? How long are you going to be in Lestallum?”

“I snagged a room already—probably be here at least a week.” Prompto stands, grunting softly as he lifts his bag. “You going to be at Dustin and Monica’s tonight?”

Ignis has so much to do, it’s overwhelming. Lately, he’s been feeling like he’s drowning. With too many priorities vying for his attention, it’s nearly impossible to focus on any one of them. The fate of every last soul on this planet rests on his shoulders, and it’s grinding him down. Being with his friends usually makes it easier to bear, though. It’s worth it, even if he really doesn’t have the time. 

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll be there.”

* _The Dawn_ * 

The sun’s rays are warm in a way that nothing else is, and that warmth spreads across Ignis’s skin as he turns his tear-streaked face towards the sky. He feels so many things in this moment. There’s immense grief at the loss of his dear friend—no, his brother. There’s the guilt of knowing that he had ten years to find some solution—a key to avoiding the fate he had foreseen—but that time eventually ran out. There’s also relief in knowing that Noctis succeeded. The daemons they were fighting have melted away. The scourge was eradicated. Life on Eos will continue, forever changed. Ignis breathes deep and tries to protect the delicate flame of his hope, despite his fear of what’s to come. 

Footsteps approach—Gladio’s. Ignis hears the way his breath catches in his throat and the way he sniffs. Ignis turns, reaching out to him, and they cry on one-another’s shoulders.

Ignis follows the sound of Prompto’s sobs to find him on hands and knees in the middle of the street. Ignis crouches and gently touches his back. There isn’t a thing he can say that will make this any easier. 

“Careful,” Prompto gasps. “I puked.”

There are so many awful smells in this place—their embattled home—that Ignis didn’t even notice. He smoothes circles across his friend’s back and says, “That’s . . . understandable.”

Regaining some control over himself, Prompto stands and mutters, “Let’s go this way.”

Ignis follows for a few moments, until Prompto stops and wails into his hands, “ _Fuck_ , he’s really gone.” This sets Ignis off again too. He tries and fails to control the shaking in his chest and lets out a rough moan. Gladio rushes over and pulls them both into a hug. 

“What do we do now? What’s the point?” Prompto demands, giving voice to what all of them are thinking.

“We keep going,” Ignis answers, his voice unsteady. “Noct gave up everything to save this world. It’s up to us to rebuild it, together.”

“Yeah,” Gladio chokes. “That’s what he’d want.”

Ignis’s hand is resting on the back of Prompto’s head, so he can feel him nod at that.

“Are we ready to go inside?” Ignis asks softly.

Prompto pulls away. “No, but . . .” 

“It’s only gonna get worse,” Gladio rightly observes. “Let’s go.”

Ignis pats both of his friends on the back before they turn from him to face the building. He locates his handkerchief and dries his face. Then he unbuttons his jacket because it’s getting very warm. 

Arm-in-arm, they help each other make the longest climb up the Citadel steps, to find what’s left of their king.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so thrilled to get [avianscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe)'s assignment for this exchange! The first prompt stood out to me immediately, which was: ". . . Ignis's reactions to and interactions with Prompto from when he first befriends Noctis to Prompto's acceptance as one of Noct's Crownsguard -- the progression from Ignis perceiving Prompto as a potential threat to a mild annoyance to someone who's tolerable to someone he trusts. . ." I also tried to work the other two ideas in there. These were (to paraphrase): the boys get split up on a hunt (I changed it to a dungeon); and early BH-era Ignis and Gladio in the aftermath of their first real security incident, learning how to trust each other.
> 
> Thank you so much to [moonwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwaif) and [MT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234) for taking the time to read this and give me feedback. Super big thanks to [Crazyloststar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyloststar) for organizing this exchange! And thanks to all of the lovely people in the ffxv fandom for being so kind and creative and chatty!
> 
> In case anyone doesn't know, the title comes from the devs' "Conversational Chemistry Chart" for the bros. Here's a [reddit post](https://www.reddit.com/r/FFXV/comments/60gzt0/reference_conversation_chemistry_chart_transcript/) about it. And here's a [video of the GDC presentation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOqIQqEAerk&feature=youtu.be) where the devs shared it.
> 
> Finally, if you were curious, Nelly's girl is my glaive, Remi. I ship them. <3


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